


Reason

by Val_Creative



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, Early Work, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Introspection, M/M, POV First Person, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 15:16:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11038830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: A God does not strive to understand something plainly obvious to His own eyes.





	Reason

**Author's Note:**

> (originally posted circa 2008 so it's old and being archived here)

*

Give or take.

The God of Death, thief extraordinaire, a name whom others should naturally fear— _gave_ for someone else.

Such a monumental title attracts different varieties of attention, and it leaks into the curiosity of the crazies and normals alike. Trowa found it amusing that I should be so energetic for someone associated with murder. Quatre never really cared to talk about it. Wufei. . .just doesn't care.

Heero liked it. Liked it enough to become my best friend. In hopes that one day my curse, my title would live up to its reputation enough to grant him his wish.

Turns out (much to my unanticipated relief) my black mark did just the opposite of what he wanted. Instead of upping his chances of a quicker and promising end to his debatable 'mortality' he kept dodging the slow-reaching claws of fatality.

Some Grim Reaper, huh?

To see him walk out of a ring of fire unscathed, land on jagged rocks meant to bash his brains clean out of his skull and simply sit up to pop his kneecap into place without so much as a grunt, raise a bloodied arm without surrendering his single-minded purpose; could make a believer out of anyone. Maybe my curse was lifting.

Death takes despite any amount of screaming, crying, intention, or opinion.

The Perfect Soldier gives to his society, his superiors, everything he is capable of to complete his mission to the best of his abilities.

The bastard _took_.

He took whatever reason there was to be angry at the world. Whatever I had, whether or not it was mine to give, was fair game. My mobile parts, my freedom, my own name. My dignity. My breath. The intimate pieces left in me too damaged that I can't steal back to repair even with all the skills I've come to learn through experience. And I truly want to hate him for it.

A God does not strive to understand something plainly obvious to His own eyes.

I allow him to get it away with it for the sake of the time remaining for us. For the Grim Reaper makes purposeful strides, its all too inevitable. We will all die. Sooner then we think.

My curse will stay in effect, creating a protective barrier from unseen forces closing on his steady life rhythm.

We are waiting, the five of us, for the most terrifying, fantastic journey, the only left behind for the damned.

*

 


End file.
